


And a pinch of salt, to keep your soul pure.

by alan713ch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Boarding School, F/F, Folk Tales, Ghosts, M/M, Mexican Traditions, haunted rooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1967337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alan713ch/pseuds/alan713ch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Air: the altar shall have incense in order to keep the evil spirits away. </i>
  <br/>
  <i>Water: a basin or glass, to quench the spirit's thirst from its travels.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Fire: candles to light the way and not let the spirit wander into the darkness</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Earth: a cross of sand in the floor, a representation of of the four cardinal points, so the spirit shall never get lost. </i>
</p><p>Scott McCall didn't believe in ghosts - his mother had raised him to distinguish the difference between fiction and fact. But his grandmother had taught him the rituals of those who had come before him, and when things stopped making sense in his room at Beacon Hills Institute for Gifted Children, he eliminated all the impossible causes until he was left with one, however improbable it was. </p><p>So he decided to make a ritual to appease a soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And a pinch of salt, to keep your soul pure.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Welcome to my humble submission to the Sciles Reverse bang!
> 
> Based on [poseypoops'](http://poseypoops.tumblr.com) lovely fan art. 
> 
> Now, first of all, thanks to poseypoops for the art, and for giving me carte blanche on this. Interestingly enough, it was not the first art to catch my eye when the submissions were open, but it slowly wormed itself into my mind and by the time we were to claim our art I knew it had to be mine. And I got it!
> 
> Second, thanks to the mods at the bang - there's a huge lack of Skittles fic and this was an amazing way to exercise my storytelling techniques since I used a completely different one of what I am used to. 
> 
> Third, thanks to [lightningrani](http://lightningrani.tumblr.com) for being such an amazing beta, and checking in on me with all my mistakes - as a non-native English speaker, they were many, I can assure you that. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr, [here](http://alan713ch.tumblr.com). Yes, I am the alan713ch that Eaddy Mays mentioned in one of her posts. I'm from Mexico and I take Mexican culture very seriously. That's why I included it in this fic, if very subtly - didn't want it to be the focus of the fic. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this ride - it was lovely writing it.

                             [](http://poseypoops.tumblr.com/post/92644614229/art-for-the-scilesreversebang-with-alan713chs)

 

“Welcome, Mr. McCall. I hope you find yourself at home.” Miss Blake’s smile was not warm - it hadn’t been when she and Mr. Deaton had visited them, and Scott had the suspicion it would never be. To her, he was only another student, another person she had to take care of, and Scott was sure she would not know his name if it weren’t for him joining so late in the semester. He still wondered how he managed to get the Hale scholarship - he wouldn’t be able to afford to be here otherwise.

At least the Beacon Hills Institute for Gifted Children was still in California, so he’d be able to talk with his mom without worrying about timezones. And he was sure she’d make the drive at least once a month - though nine hours from San Diego all the way up to Beacon Hills was something to endure.

She couldn’t afford the flight tickets.

He followed the click-clack of her heels through the marble corridors for a while, marveling at the art that was spread throughout the house. He could tell the architecture was a bit of a mish mash, like they started a Spanish Colonial manor and then added some Mission style roofing for the second and third floors, probably when they realized they may have some snows every once in a while. However, the main design was still evident - the huge patio in the center of the house betrayed it, even if it was protected by a crystal dome.

“You’ve noticed the common area, I see. This is where most of our students prefer to spend their time. As you can see, it has enough space for people to perform some light physical activities,” she pointed to the students that were breakdancing in one area, “but we’ve also put some accommodations so other activities can be pursued,” Scott counted three stone chess tables, all of them occupied, and a redhead girl was reading “A Thermodynamic Explanation of Time” on a park bench with her headphones on, “as well as healthy discussions,” the two boys that were arguing about something were about to get into a physical fight, but they heard Miss Blake clapping and retreated. “However, I think it’s best if you settle down first, Mr. McCall. Now, usually our students are paired in rooms because we like to foster relationships outside the classroom,” _and you can save money by having more people in_ , Scott thought, “but due to your late arrival in the semester, I’m afraid you’ll have to spend it on your own, at least until the next semester begins. I hope this is not an inconvenience for you?”

“No, that’s - that’s alright.”

“Good. This way.” He noticed that his room was in the first floor, not too far from the kitchens. “I’m afraid the room will be hotter than usual due to its proximity to the kitchens. While this may be an advantage right now, I’d expect it to become a bit more uncomfortable in the next couple of months as the temperature rises. I’m afraid that due to its position we could not hook it up to the A.C. On the plus side, this room has its own bathroom.” Scott could tell from her tone of voice that there was something else wrong with it, but he didn’t pry. He just set up his suitcase - an old leather box that could barely hold its stitches together and asked Miss Blake for a little privacy.

“Of course, Mr. McCall. Just let me remind you that you are to meet with the Hales tonight - they expect you for dinner.”

“Thanks Miss Blake.”

The woman left the room, and Scott just fell on the bed, looking at the chandelier on the ceiling.

“So, you are the new boy, uh?” The redhead tried to corner him after his first Calculus class - where she had given a twenty minute presentation on the physical meaning of limits and its uses for Engineering Design. He kept walking, but definitely slowed his pace - he honestly wanted to get back to his room and get out of the uniform and put on his usual t-shirt and jeans - trying not to look rude while doing so. “I’m Lydia Martin.”

“Scott McCall. Nice to meet you.”

“So, what brings you to Beacon Hills?”

“Higher education?”

Another girl laughed as she joined them,and he felt like he was hit by a truck. Her dimples worsened it.

“That was a good one. I’m Allison.”

“You are pretty.”

“Sorry, sport, I’m taken,” she started, half hugging Lydia and kissing her in the cheek, “so you are the new Hale kid, huh?”

“Wait, you are the new Hale kid? I thought they only gave that to like, kids who had a 5.0 GPA, played three sports and were prodigies in three instruments. At least that’s what Danny can do.” Scott mentally pictured the super hot boy that sat next to him at the Hale dinner last night, all muscles and dimples and short hair.

“Lyds…”

“No, she’s right. I don’t play sports and all I can play on my guitar is Wonderwall.” Allison chuckled at his answer, while Lydia rolled her eyes. “Asthma.”

“Oh. Really?”

“My whole life.”

“That’s a bummer. So what’s your sports assignment?”

“I don’t know yet, I’m supposed to talk to Mrs. Hale and Mr. Finstock later to set up my musical and my sports assignment.” Mrs. Hale - Laura, was the name she used during the dinner - was their musical coordinator and Coach Finstock was in charge of sports. He hadn’t met the latter yet, and Scott was hoping he would not go too hard on him - he could barely jog without setting his asthma off. “I hope Mrs. Hale doesn’t mind me keeping with the guitar though, I’ve never taken piano and I can’t do any winds.”

“Yeah, she’ll be fine - but she’ll make you go classical. She’ll also make you listen a lot of Rodrigo and Gabriela - apparently she met them in Ireland and loves them or something. Finstock’s gonna go hard on you, though - he doesn’t like it when kids don’t work out.”

Scott gulped.

“What do you guys do?”

“Archery.” Allison replied.

“Squash.” Lydia nodded.

“It’s not that I am trying to weasel out - I really can’t do much.”

“You’ll be fine. Finstock may seem like he lacks a couple of nuts, but he does care for us. I think that’s why Dr. Deaton hired him.”

“Maybe he’ll let me do golf?”

“If we had a court, maybe. Wait, they put you in the spooky room?”

Their conversation had taken them to his room, and he had just opened the door.

“What do you mean, spooky room? Hey!” Lydia had totally bypassed him and entered his room, clicking her tongue at the clothes that were spread on his bed.

“Lydia! Sorry, she sometimes doesn’t understand the concept of personal boundaries.”

“Oh, I do understand them. But I was not going to bypass an opportunity to check the spooky room. They say is haunted.”

“What?”

“Yeah, like back in the 1800’s the kid that slept here died or something. Supposedly his spirit still haunts this room. That’s why nobody sleeps in here, even if it has its own bathroom.”

“Lydia, stop complaining about the communal showers.”

“He even has a bathtub, Allie! How am I not going to complain about that?”

“Wait, back to this ghost…”

“What happened to your clothes?” Lydia had started rummaging through his wardrobe - he had just put the suitcase away that morning - and taken out his denim jacket, evidently patched to keep it together.

“It’s all I can afford.” Scott mumbled.

One of the things he had feared when Miss Morrell had mentioned that he should apply for the Hale Scholarship to the Beacon Hills Institute is that even in San Diego he knew what kind of people went there: rich, snotty, well-off people. He knew he was poor - they bought their clothes on Goodwill and Salvation Army, he had learned to sew when he was seven, and he respected the sanctity of the duct tape. So even if he had a new uniform and the books were pristine, he knew he would stick out. Lydia immediately put the jacket back inside and Allison grabbed him by the arm, sitting him on the bed.

“So, wanna hear the story of this room?”

“Sure, I guess…”

“Apparently back in 1890 or something, when the school was founded and they had a lot less students than now, everybody got their own room. The kid that lived here… what was his name, Lyds?”

“Stiles, I think?”

“Stiles?”

“Stiles? What kind of name is that?”

“A nickname? Whatever. This kid was brilliant, on track to go to Harvard after this, apparently the son of a local marshal or something but he was mauled by wolves one night. It was gruesome. His spirit never got rest and his room has been haunted ever since.”

“That’s… boring.”

“What? Boring?” Allison arched her eyebrow. Scott merely shrugged.

“My grandma used to tell me stories from her hometown down in Mexico. Stories where the devil would come out of hell to make deals with drunk men who wanted to conquer the girls that served them drinks in the bar. Stories where fathers would immure their daughters just to keep them from running away with their lovers that were below their social standards. Stories where mothers would drown their children before they were taken away from them and are condemned to walk the streets at night, wailing for them.” Both girls looked appalled at what they were hearing. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize! That sounds awesome!”

Scott shrugged. He knew he saw the world different than most since those were the stories told to put him to sleep until he was eight, but he never found them scary or frightening. Still, his eyes wandered to the little black notebook on his desk, the only inheritance he had received from his grandmother.

“So it won’t be a problem if you start hearing noises on the walls, stuff gets moved around and chains rattle in the hallways?”

“Why would he rattle a chain? He’s not paying a debt, he was killed before his time.”

“Are you trying to rationalize a ghost?”

“Are you telling me that you believe in ghosts, Allison?” Lydia asked her girlfriend.

“Not really. Well, no - but I mean…”

“Come on! You totally do!”

“What about you, Scott? Do you believe in ghosts?”

“No. I may have been raised on ghost stories but I also read enough books to understand the difference between fantasy and reality. Now, ladies, if you excuse me, I’d like to change clothes before I go to the library and start my homework.”

“Alright. We’ll see you there!”

Scott looked down - he was sure they were just humoring him. There was no way in the world a girl so fashionably dressed as Lydia Martin would sit with him after seeing his clothes. He adjusted the hanging mirror - he hadn’t realized it was crooked - before taking off his shirt and pants.

By the end of the week, Lydia and Allison had sat with him every single day at lunch, dinner and study time. Danny - the other current holder of the Hale Scholarship - joined him for music lessons (though he played the trumpet, and Mrs. Hale had to divide her time among the two) and Finstock had told him that he would be doing basic strength training and calisthenics: he had to be able to hold a handstand for a minute by the end of the semester in order to pass his class. And he had been assigned young Mr. Hale, his history teacher, as his personal tutor - every student had one; Lydia was paired with Mrs. Hale while Allison had been paired with Mr. Harris.

As a matter of fact, if it weren’t because his mirror was always crooked when he got back from classes or when he woke up, he would’ve called his week completely inconsequential, but the fact that the mirror kept sliding unnerved him a little.

So he took it down.

Saturday morning he found it back in place, still crooked, still the same position.

“Holy shit!”

He was sure he had taken the mirror down, and put it on the opposite wall. So either someone had come inside his room while he was sleeping or the mirror had moved on his own.

The voice on his head that sounded like his mom favored the first explanation. The one sounding like his grandma, the second one. But since he was no longer eight years old and believed in ghosts and vampires, he went to Miss Blake with the concern that there may have been some activity in his room. He knew she didn’t believe him, but at least the complaint had been filed.

“What were you doing in Miss Blake’s office? It’s a Saturday, dude.”

Danny and his friends were passing a lacrosse ball - their sport - until he noticed him coming out of Miss Blake’s office.

“Nah, just some asshole got into my room last night. They moved a mirror.”

“You fucking kidding me? Who’d be so gross to do that?”

“Beats me. Hey, weren’t you guys going into town?”

“Nah - it’s raining cats and dogs out there. Wanna play?”

“Can’t. Asthma.”

“Ah, right. Well, see ya around, Scott.”

Scott went back to his room, where the mirror was, once again, crooked.

By the end of his first month, Scott had adapted pretty well - having weekly conversations with his mom via Skype helped a lot - and could call Allison and Lydia his friends, particularly after they defended him and his clothes when a pair of asshole twins tried to belittle him. He was also doing pretty well with the calisthenics - as long as he didn’t do anything too fast his asthma would not flare up.

Also, by the end of his first month, Scott had reached the conclusion that there was a ghost in his room.

He had taken the proper precautions in order to try and eliminate all other possibilities. He bolted his room every night, and took pictures of where had he placed the mirror the night before finding it back in place, still crooked, the morning after. He even removed the nail to see what happened, and that night he was so sure he could hear a hammering of sorts, but the only thing he saw when the lights were back on was the mirror, almost mocking him in its place.

The only time the mirror didn’t come back was when he put it inside the closet, and bolted it. However, that night he didn’t sleep at all - there was a pounding going on through the night. He even recorded it, trying to see if there was a pattern in the noise.

He didn’t tell anyone about it. It was not the fact that he didn’t believe in ghosts - because a portion of him still did, even if he identified himself as an atheist - but the fact that he feared what would others think of him. So he waited until the following Saturday, when the whole school was going to go down the town of Beacon Hills for a day out, that he moved on with his plan.

“Why did you bring a notebook with you? I thought you said you were going shopping?”

“Shopping list!”

“Why not put it on your cellphone?” Scott got out his clamshell phone that was at least six years old and Lydia just pursed her lips. He waved at the two of them (he knew they’d go to Minnie’s to have a proper meal, then the movies so they could call it a date) and followed the directions he had printed from Google Maps to the small New-Age store the town had.

He had saved most of the money his mother had sent him for this, and a part of him felt guilty that he was spending it in a bunch of tales and superstitions. He expected to feel worse when he handed the money out.

However, what he had not expected was to see Mr. Hale and the girl behind the counter making out like there was no tomorrow.

He cleared his throat. It was not loud enough.

He did again.

“Mr. McCall! What are you doing here?”

“I’m trying to buy some stuff?”

“Ah, well, yes, understandable - you are in a shop. I’ll -”

Scott raised his hand. “Mr. Hale, you are human, you have every single right to do whatever you want on your free time. I just want to buy some stuff and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Hm, Derek, it seems that you got a great student to find out about us, eh? What can I do for you, darling?”

Mr. Hale had retreated to the far end of the counter, while Scott had taken out the notebook and started deciphering his grandmother’s handwriting.

“I need… sage, rosemary, marigolds, a purple candle, some incense, sand, and some salt? Or do you think I can just use salt from the kitchen?”

The girl and Mr. Hale looked at each other, then back at Scott.

“Are you trying to summon a ghost, kid?”

“I didn’t take you for someone to believe in ghosts, Mr. McCall.”

“I don’t! I… I don’t, really, but some stuff has been happening in my room and well, the legend is there, and they say legends have some basis in reality. Besides,” and Scott knew he was mumbling now, “my grandma would’ve wanted me to check.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. It’s just an indulgence.”

“Mr. McCall, I understand that you were assigned to the Eastern Room in the first floor because of how late you came into the school, but you are still a Hale Fellow - I’ll talk to Dr. Deaton to see you reassigned.”

“You still gonna buy the stuff, kid?” The woman behind the counter shrugged at Mr. McCall’s glare. “What, Wreck? A girl’s gotta eat.”

“Yeah, I will.” She started gathering the stuff. Scott blinked a couple of times and looked at Mr. Hale. “Wreck?”

“Not a word, Mr. McCall. Not a word.”

It was easier to get a mortar and pestle from the kitchens rather than the chemistry lab, and grinding the herbs was easy enough. Putting the salt in a circle and lighting the incense only involved removing the fire alarm from the ceiling (and playing balancer on a chair). Getting rid of Allison and Lydia as they were snickering in his room for attempting to do what his grandma would call a basic prayer - though he was sure the Catholic Church would not agree this was a prayer - proved to be harder.

“I thought you said you were an atheist and you didn’t believe in this stuff.”

“I don’t, OK? I don’t. The thing is, my grandma raised me to believe these things. When I was young, she told me stories of this. And I know it doesn’t make sense, I know we don’t have any proof, I know it’s mostly a way to deal with actual events through the lens of a higher power. I get that. But a part of me feels like I’m betraying her memory for not giving it a chance. So I’m sorry if I come as a plebe to you, but let me try, alright?”

“It really matters to you, doesn’t it?” Allison asked. Scott just nodded. “OK, go ahead.” Scott glared at them.

“Oh, we are not leaving,” Lydia answered, “What if it turns out you do get to see a ghost? We are gonna be here to document it and write a paper about it.” Of course Lydia would have a completely scientific mind about it.

So Scott arranged the materials and held his hands in prayer. He called for St. Peter, the Gatekeeper, to let the soul of the poor boy enter the heavens. He called for Azrael, the one who had accepted the mission from the Lord and be the one to guide souls to their judgement. He even called for St. Sebastienne, the Godmother, the White Girl, praying for the eternal rest of the boy that had been mauled by ghosts.

Last, he called the boy - he called him Stiles, since that’s what he knew - and asked him to rest in peace.

“Hm. Nothing.” Lydia’s voice was dripping with contempt. Like Scott had just wasted his time.

He probably had.

“Well, I don’t care - as long as he rests in peace. And lets me sleep through the night.”

“Still, boring. No physical or metaphysical breakthrough. Come on, Ally - I’d rather we spend our time doing something else.”

“Don’t be such a bitch to him.”

“Oh, but you want me to be one to you?” Scott was sure he was turning red - even after all this time he still got flushed by seeing them being so public with their affection.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Scott.”

“Yeah, doing actual science.”

“Night, ladies. Have fun!” He kept himself from slamming the door because he knew Lydia was right. It had been stupid of him to think that he would see a ghost off the heavenly planes because, as well as he knew, ghosts weren’t real. Just a figment explanation of noises created by bad piping and thermal changes in the material structure of a house. He’d have to go back to his first theory: that someone was getting inside his room - probably the twins - and he’d have to see how to catch them in the act. He straightened the mirror again and shook his head at the kid wearing a newsies cap and suspenders - who would dress like that in California?

He walked three steps before realizing there was no one in his room.

“Hello?”

No one answered.

Slowly, he turned back to the mirror.

There, clear as a water he could see a young man - his age, definitely - moving his arms like he was rambling about something. He was wearing a newsies cap, white shirt, gray slacks and suspenders - he looked like any daguerreotype from the eighteen hundreds and was definitely not paying attention to Scott.

“Stiles?”

Now he was. The boy - the ghost? - was looking at him through the mirror, and pointing at himself like trying to make sure Scott was looking at him.

“Yes, I can see you. Through the mirror.” Scott turned again and there was no one in his room, but on the mirror the other person was now fisting the air, “Can you see me? Can you hear me? I can’t hear you.”

The ghost pointed at his eyes and thumbed up. Then his ears and repeated the gesture. So he could see him and hear him just fine.

“OK. OK, sorry if I freak out a little bit - ghosts aren’t supposed to be real, you know?” The boy looked wholly unimpressed. “You are not! OK, hi, I’m Scott, I’m staying in your room, and apparently you don’t like that I straighten the mirror? Why?” The ghost started moving around, using his arms as some sort of communicating aide trying to convey some sort of message, “Because it clashes with the decor? Are you kidding me?” The ghost repeated his unimpressed gesture while Scott practiced his own, “I am not leaving the mirror crooked just because you think it looks better.” Stiles waved his arms in front of him, like he was giving up on Scott or something.”No, I am not. Hey - so now that I know that you can see me and we are agreeing on not moving the mirror, would you mind not making so much noise at night? I do go to school here.” The ghost nodded, but then started moving his hands again, “you want to… talk?” The ghost nodded, “I still can’t hear you… oh, you want me not to ignore you! I can do that, I guess… I mean, now that I can see you? Can anyone else see you?” The ghost shrugged. “Let’s assume not. Well, it’s Saturday night and I’m not going out. Want to talk about something?”

“Did you sleep at all last night, Scott?”

He hadn’t. He had spent all night trying to communicate more with Stiles, even if they were still limited by the ghost’s lack of voice. They tried writing with salt (made a mess), banging on the walls (nothing happened), reading mouths (their vocabularies didn’t match - apparently English can change quite a bit in a century) and by the time Scott realized it was morning (the lack of windows didn’t help) he hadn’t got any sleep at all.

He had had fun, though. Stiles was energetic, moving his body trying to communicate as much as possible, pointing out stuff and making things that seemed to be out of a clown’s program. He also would listen to Scott like he was the second coming of Jesus or something, completely enraptured with what he had to say, even if he was just listing the things in his room.

Maybe he had been alone for so long and Scott was the first person that had tried to actually contact him, that he would listen to what he had to say.

“Yeah - no, I spent the night reading.”

“What for?”

“Fun?”

“What were you reading?” Lydia was always on the hunt for new books.

“El Laberinto de la Soledad. It’s a book about Mexico. My grandma left it for me, saying that I should read it when I turned sixteen.”

Yeah, a year ago.

“Hm. Maybe I’ll borrow it later.”

“It’s in Spanish.”

“So what? You think you are the only bilingual here, McCall?” Allison smiled at her girlfriend and Scott proceeded to devour his oatmeal. Luckily for him, it was a Sunday, so he could catch up with his sleep without questions.

However, when he got to his room, he found the mirror crooked again. They finally agreed that when Stiles wanted to talk to Scott, he’d crook the mirror.

“Not now, dude, I need to sleep.”

He could see Stiles rolling his eyes, but nodding. Scott set the mirror right again and went to sleep.

He didn’t remember getting under the covers, but when he woke up he was covered by them.

“Here we are, the school records. Why do you need them, Scott?”

Mrs. Hale - Laura, she’d insist - would always refer to all of them by their first name. She said calling them by their last name made it a bit too impersonal, and since music was a language shared by everyone she said that it brought them to the same level. She was also in charge of the library at the moment - and Scott could only see her dark hair going through the stacks.

“I got assigned to the East Room in the first floor and -”

“Say no more. You want to know about Sczesny.”

“Gesundheit.”

“No, silly - that’s the ghost’s name.”

“I thought it was Stiles.”

“That was his nickname. Sczesny Stilinski, if I am not mistaken. Gosh, my Uncle Peter would tell us the story about the kid that was so uncontrollable he ended up mauled by wolves in the preserve.” Fear must’ve shown on his face, for she chuckled, “don’t worry - there haven’t been wolves in California for at least sixty years.

“Sczesny Stilinski. Brilliant mind. He was the son of the marshal, who found him in the woods three days later, the very few remnants that the wolves didn’t eat already consumed by maggots. He was a fellow, too; my family had already started the fund to bring kids into the academy, and the Stilinskis were friends of the Hales. Apparently Stilinski Sr. died not too long after - he decided to give up, having lost his wife a few years earlier and the loss of Stiles drove him to the bottle.”

“Wow, that sounds awful.”

“And rumor has it that he still haunts the Eastern room!” Laura suddenly jumped him, like she was telling a spooky story. Since he did jump, she got to laugh at him for a couple of minutes. “If you’ve been hearing noises it’s because of the proximity of the kitchen. The house is not exactly new, and we haven’t gone under major overhauling because it would take several months and of course we don’t want to disrupt your education. I’m sorry you got stuck in that room; nights are probably not fun.”

“I’ve managed, but it’s always interesting to find out the story of where you live.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. I grew up with those kind of stories. My grandma would tell them to me before I went to sleep.”

“Really? No Little Red Riding Hood for you?”

“Noup. I grew up hearing the story of the one time the Devil entered a church to claim a soul.”

“Jeez.”

He knew that it was probably not going to work, it being the middle of March instead of November and having to do it completely underground (since apparently candles are banned in the facilities) but Scott managed to do a decent altar. He got Stiles’ picture from the archives, bought some fruit at the local grocery store and was able to get more marigolds at Braeden’s shop; and he was able to use some of the candy his mom sent him. He told one of the cooks he needed to eat extra since Finstock had put him on a bulk and, since he didn’t have any roommates, nobody asked him to remove all the stuff he had put on the desk that Friday night.

Truth is, he hadn’t even told the ghost what he wanted to do - they were capable of holding semi decent conversations, as long as they kept Stiles’ responses simple, and Scott had started learning ASL on one of the school computers, but since the ghost didn’t know it it wasn’t exactly the brightest of his ideas.

Still, when he finally poured the salt on the small platter, he hoped it would work.

He sat on the bed, just staring. His grandma used to say that if you wanted to commune with the dead on their day, you had to mean it - you had to let go of all your material thoughts and just focus on those who had gone before you. According to her stories, the dead would walk the Earth for one day and one night, but for them to have the energy to commune with you after such a journey from beyond the Veil, you had to pay the price in food and sweets. He hadn’t known what was Stiles’ favorite food and he would definitely not be capable of getting a sugar skull so far up north in California, but he hoped that the Toblerone he had bought was enticing enough to make Stiles eat, and since he was already trapped in this side of the Veil, maybe he could do so even if it wasn’t the Day of the Dead.

He is still not sure when he fell asleep - he had tried to stay awake, but looking at the flame had tired him at some point.

When he woke up he panicked. For a moment he thought the room should be ablaze, since he actually forgot to turn the candles off.

Instead, what he found was a completely corporeal if somewhat translucent version of Stiles eating the chicken nuggets Scott had left on the table. No - not the chicken nuggets. Their essence.

“Oh my god, these things are delicious.”

“You should put ketchup on them. The red sauce next to the platter?”

“I know what ketchup is, no need to - wait, you heard me? You can hear me?”

“Dude, I’m seeing you.”

“OH MY GOD!”

Scott got up groggily while Stiles kept flailing all over the place, like he didn’t know if he was supposed to keep eating or jump at him or something else. He settled for putting the ghost of the nuggets down, clean his hands on his shirt and offer a hand in a salute.

“Stiles Stilinski, at your service.”

“Scott McCall, current resident of your room.”

Scott tried to shake his hand, but it went through, sending a shiver to his spine. Stiles smile faltered for a second, but immediately picked up again.

“Well, it was worth giving a try. How? How did you know that I could eat? Or that it would make me visible?”

“I didn’t. I grew up with stories of ghosts and revenants and decided to give them a try. After all, they say that all folk tales have a seed of truth, right?”

“Still, is this customary in your family? Leaving altars for the dead.”

“It used to be.” His grandma would always put one for his grandpa, who he never knew ( _He died crossing the border, mi Cipriano_ ) including the harmonica he’d play for her when they were both alive. His mother tried to keep the tradition for Scott, since he kept wanting to build one, but the novelty passed and he had almost forgotten about it.

“I apologize - did I stir up memories?”

“It’s alright. It worked! Wait, let’s see, what worked? So you are visible now to the naked eye, and I can hear you. Can you move things?” Stiles grabbed the plate with the nuggets again.

“I’ve been capable of moving stuff before, but not with such energy! I feel like I can actually open the door!”

“Well, give it a try.”

Stiles looked at him like he had given him the best idea in the world, then ran to the door (Scott noted that the boy was not exactly the most coordinated person in the planet) and gingerly grabbed the doorknob. He looked back at Scott, all excited - and then the door opened on its own, dissolving Stiles in a puff of grey smoke.

“Scott! Get up, you’re gonna miss breakfast!” Allison barged in with Lydia in town, “It’s almost noon, what the hell? You’re usually up at seven!” Scott didn’t say anything - he wasn’t capable of closing his mouth. “What? Oh, wait - you have food here?” She went straight for the nuggets. Lydia just kept looking at him and back at the door, like trying to make sense of his expression. “Oh my god, this is disgusting! How long have you kept these around - they are tasteless!” Allison had tried to eat one of the nuggets and immediately spat it out.

“Science experiment?”

“Let’s go before they close the kitchens - remember that today is their day off.” Allison grabbed his hand and steered him out - still in his pajamas. He followed, incapable of forming any sort of speech to retaliate, and scared of what had happened to Stiles.

They were doubling one corner when suddenly the smoke appeared, solidifying itself in the form of the boy.

“This is awesome! I can finally walk out of that room! Oh my god, I can finally go outside, see the fields, see what’s happened in the past - oh, hello!” Stiles had suddenly caught eye of Lydia, and was looking at her like she was the most beautiful person he had seen in his life - or death. Scott tried to tell him that the girls were in a relationship using only his face, but that proved to be difficult.

“Scott, are you OK? You seem jittery?”

“No, I’m fine - I’m totally OK, just, hungry, you know? I can’t believe I forgot about the kitchens having their day off.”

Still, Lydia looked at where he was looking, her eyebrows crossed.

“Ah, crap,” he heard Stiles say, “so she can’t see me. And apparently can’t hear me. Hello? Hello?” Stiles started making ghost noises and pretended to be rattling something and kept flailing and suddenly Scott heard a crash. Allison stopped and scanned - wait, scanned? - the area with half-closed eyes.

“What was that?”

Scott just shrugged his shoulders and tried to keep a face as straight as possible. Showing some confusion, he hoped. Maybe a bit of fear.

Truth is, he wanted to laugh his ass off after seeing a ghost jump three feet in the air because he had knocked down a glass of water. Allison approached it gingerly, still looking like she was waiting for an animal to jump at them from any of the adjacent corridors. Stiles just looked at her, like he was seeing her for the first time again, fascinated by the way she moved.

“Allie, let’s go - Scott hasn’t had any food yet. There’s nothing there, we’re not out in the woods.”

Allison grabbed the glass and walked back with them, but she didn’t look too convinced.

Scott saw Stiles stay rooted on his spot, clutching his torso like an old wound had opened.

“Dude, what the hell are you wearing?”

Scott had barely sat down when one of the twins - Ethan? Aiden? they were _too_ identical - pointed at his pajamas. The ones with the holes on the knees.

Scott closed on himself. Allison and Lydia had never brought it up after the first incident with the jacket, and Scott usually hid himself in the library or the classrooms when he was not in uniform, and his clothes were mostly patched up, but in this case he’d never done anything - only wearing them in his room, he hadn’t give them a second thought. But now the half empty dining hall was looking at him, after Aiden’s? Ethan’s? remark.

“Shut up, Drake.” Allison stood up knife in hand, pointing it at the twin. He backed off, but started sniggering.

“Look at that, McCall, you need to hide behind your girlfriend. Poor baby, can’t even defend himself on his own.”

“Don’t push it, Drake…”

“Ethan, tell your brother to stop.” Danny turned to the other twin, the one that was still sitting down and eating sausages. He didn’t do anything - he kept smearing the brats in ketchup, ignoring what was going on. “Ethan Drake, do something.” Scott saw in the corner of his eye the negation with the head, refusing to act. “Fine,” Danny stood up, evidently angry at his boyfriend, “Aiden, stop!”

“What? Look at his clothes, Danny, he’s ridiculous!”

“He’s a Hale fellow. He and I are the same, and you don’t criticize me.”

“Please, you are not the same. He can barely clothe himself.” Scott could feel the tears forming in his eyes - this had been the kind of humiliation he had been afraid of when his mother had jumped in joy when they’d heard he got the fellowship. “I’m pretty sure he’d be in a dump if it weren’t because he’s an asthmatic half-witted dog!”

“That’s it!” Allison walked straight to him and Scott was sure she’d have clocked him in the face if it weren’t because a large glass of orange juice crashed in the back of his head, making him stumble.

“What the hell? You bitch!” Aiden went after Allison, but she quickly subdued him in a joint-lock. However, even though Ethan had not bothered to help Scott, he would definitely not let harm come to his brother since he got up and went after her. Danny interceded, but that only ended in the two of them trading punches. Suddenly what seemed to be a platter with scrambled eggs went flying across the room, and the whole thing devolved into a brawl. Scott tried to hide and scurry away, but ran into Mr. Hale’s well built and definitely imposing body.

“Everybody STOP!” Scott fell on his back at the sound, almost like a _growl_ and for a moment he thought he saw _yellow_ in the eyes of Mr. Hale, but when he focused on them they were their usual greenish moss color that had him wondering what was his genetic make up. The room went immediately silent except for a spastic, uncontrollable laughter that Scott was sure he was the only one he could hear. “Everybody follow me to the headmaster’s office. NOW!” Scott scampered to his feet and followed him dutifully. Allison and Lydia caught up to him, not daring to leave him alone, and the laughter followed not too far behind, meaning the ghost responsible was still enjoying the spectacle - but not leaving him alone.

“Dude, that was awesome. That was freaking awesome! I mean, I didn’t even think I would be capable of grabbing the jug, but I was able to _crash_ it on the douche’s head, it was beautiful!”

Stiles hadn’t stopped rambling about being able to move things after they had all met with Dr. Deaton. He had even stopped laughing to let the man talk, like anyone besides Scott could hear him, but as soon as they were back in the dining hall, cleaning (since that was the first of many disciplinary actions they would face due to the stunt) he had unleashed his verbosity full time.

Apparently being unable to talk to anyone for so long had turned him into a chatterbox.

Scott was bouncing a rubber ball in his room. Another form of the disciplinary action was the fact that they were forbidden to go into town that weekend, so their plan (his, Allison and Lydia’s) of going for lunch at Minnie’s and then goof around the dog park had turned sour. He didn’t want to go outside now because he feared the mockings of those who had been in the hall, and he was sure those who weren’t had already found out through the grapevine. So he decided to use the only advantage of his room by locking himself up and spending some time on his own.

Of course, he’d forgotten about the ghost.

So he decided to ignore him, and kept bouncing his ball. At some point Stiles realized Scott was not answering to him, and turned to him.

“Is this the part where I apologize for getting you into trouble? I mean, I know I kicked his ass and everything but I did get you into trouble.”

Scott sagged.

“It’s not that. It’s that I knew this was gonna happen sooner or later. I’m poor, Stiles - I’m fucking poor. And I can’t hide it for longer. What do you think’s gonna happen Monday, when I go to class? I may have the uniform and the books, but I’m not from money, not like them.”

“So what? You’re fucking smart - and you are dedicated. What? I’ve seen you work on your homework. I’ve seen the way those girls look at you, particularly the redhead - oh my god she’s so beautiful - sorry, I digress - and they see you for who you are, a smart, caring person. So what if that dog-faced bastard takes it up because you are poor? You have to get back to him!”  
“Stiles, I can’t. First of all, I’m on a fellowship. I lose it, I go back to San Diego, and I go back to be a burden to my mom. I can’t do that. And if I do anything against any of them, do you think their parents won’t come with their lawyers, ready to draw blood? I’ll be surprised if they don’t show up here tomorrow morning, looking for an excuse to get me expelled, or worst, incarcerated!”

“Why would they do that?”

“I’m a brown boy in a white school, Stiles, what do you think?”

“I’m… I’m sorry. I haven’t thought of it like that. When I was alive Beacon Hills was a white town and we didn’t get too many news from the outside. And then I’ve spent my death secluded in this room.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, dude! I’m dead - don’t pity me! Let’s brainstorm then, what can we do?”

“What can we do about what?”

Scott just bounced his ball again. He would have caught it if it weren’t because Allison and Lydia came in, and the former grabbed it with ease.

“Hey…”

“Hey.”

“Who were you talking to?” Lydia questioned him, looking around.

“No one.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have urged Aiden like that. It’s just that I can’t stand bullies.” Allie sat on his bed, looking down on him. Stiles kept looking at her like she hadn’t seen her before, and when she started fidgeting with the comforter, he mouthed at Scott that she reminded him of someone.

“Well, you better get used to it. I’m pretty sure it’s gonna happen more often now.”

“I know, that’s why we’re here.”

“To do what?”

“Well, it’s evident you need a new set of pajamas. And a whole new wardrobe.”

“What? I - I can’t afford it!”

“We can.”

“No. I am not a charity case.”

“Good, because this is not charity. I need a reason to max out daddy’s credit card again, and we need to apologize for dragging you into the hallway without checking with you first. We screwed up.” Lydia had her ‘I won’ face, which usually worked during the debate club. Scott tried his own puppy eyes - that’s how his mother called them - but apparently she was immune.

(He was sure Allison alone would’ve caved, the way she started to fidget around on the bed).

“There’s a curfew, remember? What are we going to do, order everything online?”

“Like peasants? Pfft, no - we are sneaking out. Tomorrow morning, before sunrise.”

“No, we are not.”

They did. They barely got to the main gate before they heard someone clear his throat and when they looked back, Mr. Hale was standing with his arms crossed, judging them with his eyebrows. However, before anyone could say anything, he motioned them to follow him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see him, I would’ve warned you!” Of course Stiles had tagged along for the trip. “I was so focused on looking ahead that I didn’t hear anything on the back and he’s a ghost because he didn’t make any noise.”

Scott just side eyed him.

Instead of taking them back to the manor, Mr. Hale took them to the garage, where he took some keys out of the holster. Two beeps later informed them that they belonged to a sleek, black Camaro. He walked towards it and opened the doors, while they silently freaked out.

“If you stand there we won’t be able to get to San Francisco before noon. And I will not pay for the hotel room. It is, after all, Fourth of July.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay. Come on, Lyds. Scott.”

“But… curfew?”

“I’m driving you, aren’t I? Now it’s an officially sanctioned school trip. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Scott just gaped as Allison entered the back seat and motioned him to follow. Apparently Lydia didn’t believe in backseats.

Stiles just appeared in between them, asking Scott a million questions about what kind of coach this was.

Scott had only been once to San Francisco: on his way up to Beacon Hills. He hadn’t even entered the city, instead going up north through the highway.

He realized that he wanted to live here.

He fell in love with the narrow streets and the tall houses. He fell in love with the colored facades in Haight Ashbury, and the food in Fisherman’s Wharf. He wanted to play with the sea lions and ride the trolley and eat more clam chowder and stop at the Golden Gate just to admire the engineering work that had gone into it. He could see that Stiles was excited too, even if he looked at everything with fear in his eyes. Lydia, however, reminded him that they were on a mission.

When they started hitting the boutiques he panicked again. He had thought that they’d end up going to a Ross, or a TJ Maxx. He may have entertained the idea that they would go to a Macy’s, or maybe an H&M: cheap stores. He had not fathomed the thought of going to designer boutiques.

“Lydia!”

“Isaac!” She had to tip toe a little bit to reach the gargantuan teenager’s cheeks to kiss them once each. “So you’re still all set to start designing as soon as you are out of high school, aren’t you?”

“I’m already selling some of my own stuff! I’ll show you - who’s the puppy?”

“I’m sorry - Allison, this is Isaac. Isaac this is Allison, my girlfriend.”

“Nice to meet you, but I didn’t ask about her Lyds. I asked about _that_.”

Scott cringed. He had purposely stayed in the back (Derek had gave them his phone number and told them to call him when they were ready - and not to take long, since he still hadn’t convinced Doctor Deaton to let them spend the night in the city) and pretended to fidget with the clothes but then he realized he looked like he was loitering or ready to steal some of the garments. Stiles’ ‘I don’t like him’ was not helping. He pretended not to hear the heels coming closer.

“This is Scott, my sworn brother. Scott, Isaac. Don’t let the cherubic face fool you, he’s the devil in disguise.” Scott turned and shook the guy’s hand, who kept looking at him like he was studying him.

“Your sworn brother? What kind of cultist rituals do they make you do at that fancy school of yours, Lydia?”

“All of them, darling. All of them.”

“You know each other from before?” Scott asked.

“We’ve been best friends since kindergarten - but of course Lydia had to leave me here all alone while she went away to her genius school. So that makes you a genius too, eh, gorgeous?” Scott gulped while Isaac smiled and Lydia arched her eyebrow. “What are you looking for?”

“We are giving him a makeover.”

“Oh, are you? Why - tired of looking like a youngster?”

“We owe it to him. So, let’s begin, shall we?”

“Scott, what’s going on?” Stiles asked while the two girls and the other guy started moving around the store, grabbing clothes left and right.

“I have no idea.”

Three stores, twenty five bags, a new haircut and two Starbucks later, Scott still didn’t have any idea of what was going on. His hair was no longer floppy - now it was short and perfectly coiffed - and he had left one of the stores with the clothes he had bought on: some jeans ( _How are you gonna fit your undergarments in those things? They look painted on_ ), a short sleeve shirt ( _I don’t understand the point of the sleeves, then - also, why not suspenders? Are you gonna let the pants fall?_ ), a bow tie, black boots and a newsies cap ( _Hey, that totally looks like mine! You are copying me!_ ). Isaac insisted in sunglasses for everybody ( _So do you need protection from the sun? No? Then what do you need them for?_ ) and he wanted Scott to wear scarves just like he did, but Scott denied him vehemently.

He also couldn’t help but notice that Isaac would smile when he was trying a new outfit, and he was pretty sure the lanky guy checked him out at least once.

He was also pretty sure Stiles checked him out at least _twice_.

Isaac took them for froyo around the Wharf. Scott noticed that Stiles wasn’t babbling anymore, just contemplating the city, like trying to drink everything in, while Allison and Lydia wandered on their own into a sweet shop.

“So, what’s your story, man?”

“Hm?”

Isaac was looking at him with interest, like he was still modelling a new outfit at one of the stores.

“Lydia doesn’t open her wallet for anyone. That makes you special. And if you are special to her that means I need to pay attention. Who are you?”

“No one.”

Scott realized Stiles looked at him when he said that, a frown on his face. Scott shrugged.

“No one. I’m sorry, Scott, but you are not no one. Just the sheer fact that you are a Hale Fellow in the Beacon Hills Institute it’s a big deal.”

“I still don’t know how I got it. I mean, Miss Morrell suggested it and I applied just for the sake of applying, but I was sure I would not get it. I would’ve never afforded to go without it.”

“Ah.” Isaac didn’t say anymore and Scott was waiting for him to look back with disgust, just like Ethan, just like Aiden. Just like Jackson.

He didn’t.

“So, what’s your specialty?”

“Hm?”

“What’s your specialty? Lydia’s gonna be an astrophysicist. Allison is great with languages from what I’ve heard. What’s your specialty?”

“Biology.”

“Huh? You like bugs?”

“Animals in general. If,” Scott remembered his mother sitting with Miss Morrell, talking about Scott’s future, the looming shadow of poverty always on their back, “If I get to go to college, I’ll try medicine, then research. I’d like to know how the brain works.”

“Amazing. And here I am, just doodling pretty clothes for pretty people like you.”

Scott actually _blushed_ at that.

“Oh, come on! Nobody’s ever told you that you’re pretty?” Scott shook his head. “If it weren’t because you live six hours away from me I’d totally ask you on a date. Hell, we can make this a date if you want!”

Scott looked up, unsure if he was supposed to feel scared or flattered. Something must’ve shown in his face, because Isaac lowered himself and kissed him in the mouth. Scott reciprocated, and felt the Caramel Macchiato from Isaac’s mouth mix with his Triple Chocolate Oreo Frapuccino (with whipped cream). When Derek finally picked them up Isaac saluted at him, and Scott was sure he was turning fifty shades of red.

When he paid attention to the car, he saw there was a box with his name on it. Opening it, he found a black leather jacket, the only item he had actually wanted to buy but never dared to ask, and Lydia never suggested it. It was his size, fit him perfectly, and Allison squealed when he tried it on.

He caught Mr. Hale’s smile through the mirror, but he understood he was not to mention it.

“I think you’re pretty.”

Stiles had barely spoken a word on the way back, Scott just realized - he had fallen asleep somewhere outside Berkeley, and was heading straight to bed. The words make him stop while getting into his pajamas - still the ones with the holes, he didn’t want to break out the new ones yet.

“You heard that?”

“Has nobody ever told you you’re pretty? Not even your mom?”

“Mom doesn’t count. She has to tell me I’m pretty on principle.” Stiles just shrugs, like it’s true, but still looks concerned. “It’s the jaw. It’s the only thing I got from my father, a misaligned jaw.”

“I think it looks unique. That it makes you stand out.”

“Thanks.”

Stiles didn’t say anything else, just kept looking away, like trying to avoid his eyes. Scott just shrugged and went to bed.

When Scott went to the main area dresses in one of the outfits Lydia had chosen for him, the twins just _glared_ at him. Danny, on the other hand, started hanging out with them, claiming that he should’ve taken his responsibility as ‘older Hale fellow’ more seriously before.

The one Saturday they go into Beacon Hill with Scott wearing his leather jacket he got four girls’ phone numbers. And six guys’. Stiles laughs when he sees them awkwardly flirt with Scott, but afterwards disappears for hours.

Stiles turns out to be very bad at math and physics, but helps Scott a lot with literature, finding the writing of the classics a bit closer to the way he used to talk when he was alive.

Allison and Lydia notice that he seems happy. When they ask why, Scott can’t give them an answer.

Stiles just laughs the whole time.

Scott tries not to blush when he notices the ghost’s moles going up and down.

“Scott?”

“Hm?”

“Can we go visit my grave?”

Twenty five days, six dissolutions and one lengthy afternoon on the internet reading about haunting spirits they realized Stiles actually still couldn’t come and go as he wanted.

He was _bound_ to Scott.

Scott had tried to apologize immediately, but Stiles just waved his hands and let it go. After all, he had said, he had gained mobility through the manor and now could haunt the twins’ sorry asses. But Scott realized that every once in a while he would look outside the manor and Scott wondered how it felt to be tied to a place or a person, without actual freedom to do as he wanted.

Scott closed his notebook (the linear algebra homework was not due for another couple days anyways) and grabbed the leather jacket. It was August, so the nights could get a bit chilly.

He didn’t know if he was supposed to talk to Stiles or not - he was usually the one providing the commentary, but he looked so down he was almost sure he would not say anything until they reached the town’s cemetery.

“You can ask, you know. You’ve never asked.”

“I thought it would be intrusive. Like I’m asking you a personal secret or something.”

Stiles laughed.

“Besides, I read the official statement.”

“What does it say?”

“That you were mauled. By wolves.”

Stiles laughed again, but it was so bitter Scott actually winced.

“Mauled by wolves. Good cover, I guess. Hey, did you know that, when being mauled by wolves, you start leaking out black goo out of your every single orifice? Eyes, mouth, ears, _ass_?” His expression scared Scott. His eyes were wide, and for a moment, he didn’t look like the usual solid kid that stayed next to his side.

For a moment, he looked like a specter, a corpse risen from its grave, a revenant hell bent in getting its revenge.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“You were being very specific.”

“Yeah, well, what do you think? I can remember that I was leaking out like some sort of tar faucet, but I can’t remember the why, nor the how.” Suddenly, Scott felt really tired - and Stiles noticed, since he turned to look at him immediately. “Shit, I’m leeching you out, aren’t I?”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I should calm down.” Stiles looked onto the ground - they were crushing leaves and getting dirt all over Scott’s shoes, “I tend to forget I’m tied to you.”

“Even if you can’t but follow me around?”

“You’ve given me freedom, Scott. Thanks to you I can see the world now.”

“As long as I see it.”

“Oh, but you will.”

Stiles looked again like he was happy, happy for _him_ , and Scott just ducked his head. Every once in a while, when Scott was explaining something new to Stiles (cellphones had taken him weeks to understand) Stiles would look back at him like he was a second coming of Jesus or something. Scott usually tried to shy away from those looks, sure that they were meant for someone else, since he was just a kid from a poor block in San Diego.

“We’re here. Huh. My grave.”

_Sczesny Stilinski, Beloved son._

“You were seventeen.”

“I was already a man by the standards. I hadn’t found a wife yet, you know? I may have pursued the daughter of the mayor, but she was to be married to the Whittemore kid, and never returned my favors. So instead I became focused on my studies, wanting to become a doctor and then come back.”

“Why a doctor?”

“My father had to drag me everywhere when I was a kid. I used to poke at corpses. At some point I realized I could be of help to Beacon Hills if I became a consultant for the Marshal, in medical matters. Then the Fellowship came.

“The Hales had already set up their institute here, you know? It wasn’t as big as it is now, but everybody in town knew of the small college they were running. Old Mrs. Josie used to say that it was a facade to train werewolves and other creatures of the night. My father was in good terms with them, since Mr. Hale was a lawyer and was trying to succeed old Judge Barton in the office. Some even said that I was awarded the fellowship because of that - that they wanted to buy my father’s support in the upcoming elections. As if my father could be bought.

“I got in. I excelled at it. I wanted to qualify for Harvard - it wasn’t that expensive back then, you know? Mostly about reputation, but the Hale Institute was gaining fame in the collegiate circles. Even if I had to work there and wear the same pants for the four years I’d be there, I would have done it. I wanted it so hard.

“And then I died.”

They just sat there for a while, not saying anything. Scott remembered his grandmother’s stories again, of people singing in the dark for hours, appeasing the ghosts of those who couldn’t find rest. He started humming the song both she and his mom used to sing him to sleep, an old tale of a man hopelessly in love with a woman who would wail at funerals.

“Mr. McCall. Mr. McCall, wake up.”

He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep, his head resting on the grave of his friend. It was Mr. Hale who had found him in the freezing hours of the morning.

“Mr. McCall, we need to get going, you are freezing.”

Scott nodded and tried to get up, but he was too tired. He looked around for Stiles, but couldn’t find him.

“Come on, Mr. McCall. Stay with me.”

“Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Hale?”

The look on Mr. Hale’s eyes was _peculiar_. For a moment Scott thought he saw yellow again, like that day in the middle of the summer.

“I don’t know, Mr. McCall, do you believe in werewolves?”

Scott spends a week in the hospital running a fever. Allison and Lydia and Danny all come to check on him constantly, talking to him about school and Allison’s improving scores in archery and Lydia’s first publication in a physics journal. Doctor Deaton and Derek Hale hover around the doctor, who tells them that he is severely malnourished and has to be put immediately on a fluids diet. They call his mother, who says that will try to go up there as soon as possible, and Talia Hale orders for all the proper care to be taken, stating that the Hale family would pay for all the bills.

He doesn’t hear or see any of it, though. He spends the hours dreaming of running through the woods, blood seeping from a hole in his torso, reaching the Hale manor on the other side of the preserve, and hearing the howls of the wolves that are no longer in California.

Scott wakes up to his mother’s sweet voice, hopeless love imprinted in a lullaby.

“Hey, sweetie.”

“Hey, mom. What are you doing here?”

“You needed me.”

Scott nodded. It didn’t matter that it probably meant she was missing a paycheck or two, it was true. He needed her.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. But explain to me, what were you doing in the cemetery so early? Did you sleep there?” Scott nodded. “Why?”

“I… I don’t know. You are gonna think I’m crazy, but maybe I read too much in grandma’s stories? About ghosts?”

“Oh, sweetie, you miss her, don’t you?”

“A bit, yeah.”

Scott notices the silence when he finally goes back to school. Stiles hasn’t been near him since that night, and he expected him back in the room.

He wasn’t.

“You’re moping.”

They were in the middle of their monthly dinner with the Hales, and Danny had tried to whisper as low as possible. Scott had the impression the Hales had heard anyways.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Now, try to smile, will you?”

Scott couldn’t.

Mr. Hale walked him back to his room.

“Mr. McCall, about that night. You asked me if I believed in ghosts.”

“I thought I had dreamed that.”

“You didn’t. Now, a word of advice, Mr. McCall - if you are consorting with a ghost, you need to help it find rest. Not let it use you to cross the veil.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not natural, Mr. McCall. Revenants come back _wrong_.”

“So I need to help him find peace?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Hale walked away.

In his room, Scott realized he didn’t ask him if werewolves were real.

“Stiles? Stiles? Stiles!”

Scott had done the altar again. It was November the 2nd, so he was sure he was there, and the chicken nuggets would be tempting enough.

And sure enough, the mirror slid off to the left.

“Hey Scottie.”

Scott didn’t ask him where he had been or anything else. He just smiled at him, and offered him the nuggets.

Stiles smiled back.

“So you are seeing a ghost.”

Lydia was sitting in his chair, Danny and Allison on his bed. Scott kept pacing, and Stiles was standing in the corner, pretending to play with his hands. Apparently he was trying to create shadow puppets even if he was translucent.

“I’d say I’m haunted by a ghost. The hospital trip in August? That was him.”

Scott felt the cringe in his friend’s face.

“Wait, he was pulling energy from you?”

“I think I bound him to me when I offered food for him.”

“The nuggets?”

“I’d say the bowl of salt was the most important thing, but yeah, the nuggets.”

Allison’s eyebrows practically unified, while Danny was looking at him like he had gone insane.

“But how is he pulling energy from you? Electrically? Magnetically?”

Scott opened his mouth but realized he didn’t know the answer.

“I’d say magnetic. I mean, he is electromagnetic enough to generate a force that allows him to move objects, and he definitely takes the energy from me. I’ve been eating more since he was able to eat the nuggets - well, capture their energy.”

“But how did that manifest in the nuggets losing their taste? Did he alter their chemical composition by creating an inductive field on them?”

“I don’t know - have any experiments been done on the effect of electromagnetic waves on food?”

“There’s always people complaining about the food coming from microwaves…”

“I meant scientific studies, Danny. Scott, we need to test him. We need to find his electromagnetic frequency, and we need to find a way to make him visible. Think about the implications this could have!”

“Guys, listen to yourselves. You are discussing the fact that a ghost is real. How can a ghost be even real?” Allison’s voice was not her usual aloof, calm tone. It was high pitched, and interestingly, reminded Scott of someone else.

“Allie, you OK?”

“I’m OK - the question is, are you? Scott, you are dragging my girlfriend into your delusion!”

“Funny. Your tone of voice reminds me of Mr. Hale when I first bought ingredients from the New Age store in town.”

“What? What do you mean? What did he tell you?”

Even Danny was looking at her now.

“Why would he tell me anything? About what?”

Allison just left the room without saying anything. Scott heard Stiles mention that she reminded him of someone, but she couldn’t remember who.

Allison didn’t talk to them for a week. Lydia gave her an ultimatum and they broke up.

It only took Danny three hours to procure a file on the Argent Family, Werewolf Hunters.

“You asked me if I believed in werewolves.”

Scott was in his weekly session with Mr. Hale. They had just discussed what classes he’d be taking the following semester - starting his path towards college.

“Did I, Mr. McCall?”

“You never answered me if you believed in ghosts.”

Scot just handed him the file. Mr. Hale perused it, his face switching between emotions.

“Who else knows about this?”

“Danny and Lydia. We realized Allison was hiding something when we were talking about the ghost I’m not supposed to believe in.”

“You snooped on her.”

“She stopped talking to us before we did.”

“You invaded her privacy.”

“Yes, I’m afraid we did.”

“What do you want me to tell you, Mr. McCall?”

Scott wanted to ask him about werewolves, if they were real, if they had preternatural abilities, if they howled at the moon. He wanted to ask him about the strange connection between his family and the Argents, and how every generation there seemed to be an Argent taking classes in the institute. He wanted to know if becoming a werewolf would cure him of his asthma.

“Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Hale?”

This time, there was no doubt. Mr. Hale’s eyes were shining gold when they looked back.

“Indeed I do, Mr. McCall.”

“I’m pretty sure you were shot.”

They were all sitting down in the patio, comparing notes. The cacophony around them allowed them to talk easily without being overheard, and Scott could talk to Stiles and everybody else would think he was talking to Lydia and Danny.

Allison was looking at them from another table. She had taken the break up with Lydia pretty hard, while the redhead had just submerged herself in more research. She already had a questionnaire she wanted to use on Mr. Hale, but Scott told her not to, at least until Stiles’ spirit had crossed the veil.

He didn’t want to estrange him in case they needed his help.

“Hm? Why do you think that, Scottie?”

“Because I keep dreaming it. Running through the woods, shot, blood turning darker and more viscous. Also, getting to the Hale manor, but I don’t know if that happens before or after the injury in the other side of the preserve.”

“We need to talk to Mr. Hale at some point.”

“We need to be sure, Lydia. He may have admitted that he is a lycan, but we need to know what could have caused that.”

“Wolfsbane.” They all jumped when Allison spoke. “You really need to keep your voice down.”

“Nobody else pays attention.” Lydia snapped. Allison cringed, but breathed in and then out.

“Look guys, I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to tell anyone. I didn’t even believe it myself until we caught a werewolf in Maine and killed her. Two Decembers ago?”

“You killed her? What - why?”

“She had slaughtered her village, Scott. That’s our code, _we hunt those who hunt us_.”

“Well, that code sucks. Was she in control? Was she like the Hales?”

“No, she was actually more like a rabid dog. It - it was awful.” She sat down next to Lydia, ready to cry. “I didn’t want to remember it. I felt so bad. She seemed to be a woman, just like my mom, but all wild and fangs and her eyes were so blue…” Scott saw her shuddering, and automatically reached for her. Lydia got there first, though. “I didn’t want you guys to believe the supernatural was real - because it’s not fun. It’s horrible.”

She started crying inside Lydia’s embrace.

“Can I see you practice?”

Stiles asked Allison - they were now in Scott’s room again, doing homework for a change - but waited until Scott relayed the message. Allison nodded, and they agreed to do it the following morning.

She started with her usual archery, then some gymnastics and calisthenics (Scott actually followed her on those - Finstock’s regime had given him a lot of agility and flexibility he never thought he’d be capable of), but it wasn’t until when she started practicing surveillance techniques that Stiles spoke again.

“I’ve seen that before. That way of moving, that style.”

“Do werewolf hunters have a particular way of stalking their prey, Allison?” Danny asked.

“Well, yeah - it’s not like our prey is easy to hunt.”

“How come you are studying here? Do your parents know the Hales are werewolves?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve also noticed that there’s always been an Argent nearby. I saw the file, Scott, and I have to congratulate you, Danny. Pretty thorough.”

Danny just dimpled at the floor, like he was ashamed.

Everybody knew he wasn’t.

Scott sat on his bed, and watched Stiles pace around and talk about how he didn’t understood the way fuels were produced so massively (Lydia had already showed him schematics of chemical plants and oil rigs and he still found them boggling) when he realized he had fallen for him.

He had fallen for the way he moved, for the way he talked, for the way his arms swayed back and forth when trying to explain things. He had fallen for the moles on his face, following the contortions of his mouth, sometimes translucent, sometimes solid against pale skin. He’d fallen for his words, _cantinfleando_ his way through the truth, speaking much and saying little.

“Scott?”

“I’m sorry, I was away for a second.”

“I could tell. Everything alright?”

He knew that if they found out how he had died, he’d move on. And he wouldn’t be able to follow.

“Yeah,” his voice fell a little, “I’m alright.”

Two months after Christmas they were in the woods again when Lydia started just walking. They tried to stop her, to talk to her, but she just ignored them until she reached a clearing in the heart of the preserve.

There she stopped, and screamed so loud Scott thought for a moment that his ears would bleed.

“Lydia, what was that?”

The girl had fallen to her knees and tears started coming out of her eyes. She shook her head, and Allison went and hugged her girlfriend trying to calm her down before she got a panic attack. Scott, Dany and Stiles started pacing around the area, looking for something. They didn’t know what.

“I…” Lydia swallowed, trying to keep the tears from flowing, “I heard someone running, and someone shouting, and shots - they sound nothing like the movies! And… and I don’t know what or why, I just had to scream…”

“Shots?” Allison asked her, and she nodded.

The boys kept pacing around, seeing nothing. Something flashed in Scott’s memory, and he looked at the way the sun shone through the trees.

“Stiles?” The ghost turned to him, and followed his signal. The others ignored them, since they couldn’t see Stiles anyways. “I want you to stand here, please.” Stiles obeyed, and let himself be directed by Scott.

He realized than when standing in a certain position, there was a straight line between Stiles, a small opening among the trees, and an oak that looked too old to be there.

“Scott, what are you looking for?”

Scott didn’t answer Danny. He just went towards the tree, and studied it.

“Scott?”

“Danny, do you have your knife with you?” Danny handed him the blade, and Scott started scraping the bark where it stopped being linear, and a small circle showed, like ripples around a rock.

“Scott?”

It took him a good while, but he was able to puncture the tree enough until he felt the blade touch something hidden in it.

“Is that a bullet?” How?”

“Whatever was shot must not have been enough to stop it, and the tree grew around it.”

“Not whatever, Allison. _Whoever_.”

Scott didn’t even look back at him - he was trying to get the bullet out - but he could feel Stiles realizing what he had just said.

“Wait - are you saying that’s the bullet that shot me? That’s the bullet that… killed… me?”

Scott tugged as hard as he could, and the little brass object came out, mashed, but evidently a bullet. A bullet with carvings on it.

“Guys, do you see this?”

Allison took the bullet from him, while Stiles, unbeknownst to anyone but Scott, was having what seemed to be a panic attack.

“I’ve seen this before.”

“Where?”

“My family bullets. My family crest.”

At that moment Stiles stopped moving, so sudden Scott’s head whiplashed in his direction.

“Stiles?”

“Scott? What’s going on?”

“I was shot, here. I was running from this woman. Blonde, with green eyes. A teacher at the Institute.” Scott could see Stiles eyes blank, completely away from them.

From _him_.

Scott could see the blood oozing from the wound in the ghost. Stiles just started walking west.

“Caterina Argent. She was beautiful. Rumor has it she was dating one of the other teachers, one of the Hales. I had found something about her. Something was off. I can’t remember what. But she  chased me out. And shot me. I…”

“You tried to reach us. To warn us.”

They all jumped at Mr. Hale - Allison actually notched her bow - nobody had heard him arrive.

“You can see me?”

“I’ve seen you ever since Mr. McCall managed to summon you back again. I knew that you were not resting yet - that the spells the druids had weaved in your room had only put you to sleep, not give you rest.”

“The spells?”

“Some magic the ancestors of Doctor Deaton weaved to keep you from haunting students left and right. Apparently you were very angry after your death.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were killed because you discovered a plan she had been hatching in order to kill the Hale family. You tried to warn us.”

“Warn you? Your ancestors, you mean?” Danny asked the professor. The man just flashed his yellow eyes.

“Werewolves age differently, Mr. Mahealani.”

“Werewolves? Did he just say he’s a werewolf?” Lydia’s voice was breaking, and she was trying to hide behind Danny. Allison kept her bow notched at him, but he didn’t pay attention to them, his eyes focused on the ghost.

And on Scott.

“You were running towards the manor when Caterina shot you, Mr. Stilinski. You tried to keep moving, tried to reach us, but the wolfsbane had taken effect. You died a couple hundred meters down west.”

“Were you there?”

“No. One of the people I will always admire the most did. He was…” Mr. Hale hesitated, looking between Scott and Stiles, “your best friend.”

“Why don’t I remember him?”

“I don’t know.” The shadows on Mr. Hale’s face increased.

“Who was he? Did he die as well?”

“He… He was never the same afterwards. No, he didn’t die at Caterina’s hands - he was too powerful to be brought down by a bullet, even if infused with wolfsbane. But the grief walked with him and at some point he let himself age. He died of natural causes much sooner than most of my species do.”

“Powerful?” Scott asked - Mr. Hale hadn’t stopped looking at him.

“What happened to Caterina?” Allison asked.

“Your ancestor was captured by my family. I couldn’t look at her after all the things she did to me, trying to get information about us that would benefit her. Your family and mine made an agreement - they took her back, and send her away, wherever they deal with those who break your code.”

_“Nous chasson ceux qui nous chassent.”_

“And as a gesture of good faith, a member of your family is always at our school.”

“I’m a hostage?”

“After a hundred years, Miss Argent, I’d like to believe you are just a formality. Besides, it’s not like we take anyone into the school - we do have standards.”

“Wait - why are you here? Why are you telling us this?” Danny interrupted them - it looked like Allison wanted to shoot Mr. Hale with her arrows.

“I heard a banshee scream. That usually means someone is about to die.”

“A banshee? Me?” Lydia started trembling again.

“We can discuss your condition at the Institute, Miss Martin. I can assure you, once the fae had been driven away from this world by the age of iron. Now, you’re coming back.”

Mr. Hale motioned them to walk back towards the school, but Scott waited for Stiles. The ghost kept looking in the direction of the Hale manor.

“I had a best friend.” He told Scott. “I had a best friend and I don’t remember anything about him. Nothing at all.” Stiles dissolved in gray smoke again, and Scott couldn’t help but feel sad, angry, and maybe even a little bit jealous.

“I need to learn about him.”

Scott was laying on his bed, looking at the ceiling. Stiles had reappeared three days later, energized at the new mystery. Like having found out how he died had not been enough to let him cross over.

Not that Scott wasn’t complaining, but now all Stiles could think of was that person Mr. Hale had mentioned and he would keep ruminating about his theories and yes, Scott was jealous.

“I’m sorry Mr. McCall, Mr. Stilinski. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

His eyes shone and Scott saw the claws rip through the leather seat.

“It’s too much. Please, leave.”

That night they heard wolves howl.

“Scott, are you sure you know what we’re doing?”

Danny was pacing around the room with a book in his hands, while Lydia was sprawled in one of the benches, doing her astrophysics project. Allison was not with them - she had gone home to her parents, to discuss the fact that she was a hostage to the Hales.

“I don’t even know what we are looking for, honestly. It’s not like records would show who was best friends with who.”

“Well, we can see that Stiles - I’m sorry, I still can’t pronounce his first name - was involved in several cartographing projects around the school. It seems that he was fond of wandering the preserve.”

“Who finished the maps?” Scott asked. Stiles looked at him questioningly.

“Hm… let’s see… Sweet lord this is ridiculous. A McCall.”

“What?” Even Lydia raised her head at Danny’s voice.

“Ferdinand McCall. Later on he and Theodoric Hale would finish the project originally started by McCall and Stilinski, as a way to properly set the limits of the Institute, the Hale property, and the city. This is actually pretty interesting.”

“Did you know you had family here before, Scott?” Stiles asked, looking at him.

“No. I don’t even know how many McCall’s are out there. It’s not that uncommon of a name, you know?”

“It’s been months and I’m still not used at you talking to a ghost none of us can see, Scott.” Danny mentioned, putting the book on the table so they all could see it.

“Ms. Hale?”

“Talia, please, Scott, Daniel. We are almost family.”

Scott smiled shyly, while Danny flared his dimples. It was true that after a year of this monthly dinners their discussions had started to be more intimate and personal rather than just discussing about the affairs of the school, but Scott would never say they were family yet. Though Mr. Hale - Derek - had taken their meetings and turn them into flat out bantering sessions when they were not discussing classes anymore.

“Besides, my son has already given you our darkest secrets, and since you’ve earned that confidence I wish it could go both ways.”

“Ms. Hale - Talia!,” Scott corrected himself, “thanks for trusting us and not killing us for knowing you are werewolves or anything.” Talia laughed, Derek snorted, Laura actually spat out the soup she was drinking, “I’m sorry, but we did think that for a moment.”

“After all the initial shock of seeing Mr. Hale’s yellow eyes - though I have to admit it is fascinating the superposition of color in the irises - and how is the color related to the position in the pack? Do alphas secrete a different chemical pigment to alter the Rayleigh scattering - actually, how do you do the amber highlight just by becoming werewolves?”

“You may understand, Danny, that we do not let scientists go around poking us - it’s not exactly comforting the idea of what the government would do with an army of werewolves.”

Even though Laura’s voice was light, Scott noticed the seriousness of the subject.

“Please, Laura, let us talk about other subjects.” Scott could feel the authority in Talia’s voice, and he could feel the power of the alpha underlying there, even if he wasn’t a wolf himself.

Scott poked at his food - he had wanted to ask in behalf of Stiles (he’d been avoiding the Hales since Derek told them they knew him but refused to talk about him). Scott wanted to approach the subject somehow and blurted out the question without thinking much.

“Who was Theodoric Hale?”

Scott wasn’t sure he expected Laura to laugh that loud or for Ms. Hale to twinkle her eyes or for Derek to crush his wine glass.

“I don’t like that name anymore.”

“You were Theodoric?” Now Danny was laughing and Scott couldn’t help but smile a little at the embarrassment the werewolf was showing.

“It was Ferdinand who started calling me Derek. Well, he called me Doric when I told him I’d rip his throat with my teeth if he kept calling me Theo, and somehow it caught on.” Derek’s eyes started to glass over, like he was getting lost in some memories.

“Who was Ferdinand?”

“The greatest man I’ve ever met. Well, he actually was a teenager when we met him, him and Stiles were thick as thieves, and they were very good at riling me up. They did everything together - when we had to institute the scholarship so we could keep an eye on Ferdinand he forced us to give it to Stiles too, talking about his dreams of becoming a doctor aide to the Marshal. Had he lived he would’ve been one of the first to institutionalize forensics. A shame he didn’t.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell him this? You were the one who told me he needs to move on…”

“Because it’s painful to remember Ferdinand, OK? I knew Stiles for probably a year - god, they all blur together - but I met Ferdinand for almost thirty. I tried to stop him from letting go, from aging, but I couldn’t - he had always been in love with Stiles and he couldn’t live without him. And now I’m looking at him again falling in love with his ghost and I wish I could help, but I know that if I say anything I’ll ruin it. Just like I ruined it when I fell for Caterina’s machinations.”

“Again?”

Derek stood up  - Scott realized he was crying as he put his hand over his face - and left. At that moment Laura came back inside - nobody had noticed she’d left - and handed Scott a daguerreotype.

“He’s kept it in his room forever.”

In it, three people were in a studio room. Standing, Derek looked regal, wearing a stiff coat and he was sporting his best scowl. In the middle, Stiles was doing one of his wicked smirks, like he had just pulled a prank he felt so proud of. And in the other side, sitting, with a lopsided smile -

“No.”

“You understand now why it’s such a hard time for Derek to talk to you about him. To talk to him. To talk to _you_.”

“How is this even possible? It doesn’t make sense genetically!”

“Scott, we are werewolves, you consort with a ghost, and Miss Martin is a banshee. Do you really think it’s outside the realm of possibilities -”

“That I am the reincarnation of some old dude that lived here a hundred years ago? YES! What - did you do - a ritual to bring me over? Who am I, then? Is that the reason why my middle name is Fernando? Is that why he gave me the jacket? Why he made himself my counselor - because he wanted to remember his adventures with that guy?”

“Scott!” Danny was trying to appease him but Scott got up throwing his plate away. Talia and Laura just looked at him, understanding that if they said anything they’d make it worse. Unable of saying anything, Scott just bolted for the door, running out, running away, running into the woods trying to get away from everything. He could feel the ghost of Stiles trying to catch up with him but for once he wanted to be alone so he wished him away.

He just kept running.

He heard a gunshot.

“Stiles!”

The word had escaped his mouth and he knew it true. His body immediately turned into the opposite direction and he sprinted towards the noise.

In the clearing, Ferdinand found Stiles and he could smell the wolfsbane and gunpowder. Between the trees, that teacher that was always with Theodoric was holding a musket and aiming it at him.

“So you were the puppy Peter bit, aren’t you? I thought it was Stilinski here, with all the energy he’s always exuding. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? They gave you the fellowship to you first and then to him because you two are always together, didn’t they? And of course, Derek took a liking to you two and started training you - that’s why he can’t stop talking about how much you two bother him. Well, what’s one more dead werewolf in the world? And I can always blame it on you, his death.”

She shot him right in the chest. It hurt like hell, feeling the poison flowing through his veins. But he would not let her shot Stiles again.

She shot again, but he wouldn’t stop.

One more time. He kept moving.

“What’s this? What the - you are supposed to be dying!”

Ferdinand roared as he grabbed the musket and bent it. Caterina let it go reaching for a knife she had in the folds of her dress but he used the butt of the musket to knock her out. He howled for his adopted family, and could hear the footsteps of one of them - Theodoric, from the way they crushed the leaves in the woods.

“Ferdinand…”

“Stiles!”

Scott ran towards the ghost’s body and grabbed him, crying.

“Stiles, Stiles, what’s going on? What happened?”

“I remembered, Ferdinand. No, Scott - you’re Scott. You are not the same even if I just fell for you again… I knew I knew you, ever since I heard your voice. Even if I didn’t recognize you before, I knew you were important. And you proved it - you made yourself important to me again. You cared for me, you tried to make me physical, you gave me energy… When I was just a nuisance in your room…”

“Stiles, please - what’s going on? You’re a ghost, you can’t die again, not when I love you!”

“You love me? You love… me?”

“Of course I love you! I love the way you flail, and the way you move, and the way you talk without saying anything because I know that if I ask the right questions you say the right answers and I love the way your moles move when you speak and the way your eyes crinkle when you look at me and I’m sorry I can’t be that guy because I don’t even know that guy and -”

“Hey, Scottie… you may look like Ferdinand, and act like Ferdinand, and be as awesome as Ferdinand… you are you. And I fell in love with you… And… I want you to know…”

“Oh god no, not again, not again!” Derek had entered the clearing, running with a face that seemed contracted and fangs and fur and his eyes shining gold but as soon as he saw the scene unfolding in front of him he looked human but so young, so broken, like his worst nightmare was happening in front of him.

“Stiles. Stiles, please.” Scott was sobbing now, somehow feeling the ghost lighter and lighter, like he was fading. “Please don’t go… Don’t leave me…”

“It’s my time to go, Scottie - I’ve been here too long. Besides, I know that there are good people here in the world, and that somehow, somewhen, I’ll see you again. Oh, hey dad…!”

“Stiles, please…” But Scott felt him fade again, with a smile on his face, and a moment later Scott was holding nothing anymore.

“Scott…”

“What is it, Mr. Hale?”

Derek looked at Scott, all broken and little, hugging himself. He tried to approach him, but the boy rejected him physically. Derek just stepped back and threw his head back, howling in distress and sadness.

He could hear the howls of his mother and sister join him in the background.

Scott just looked at him.

“Hey, sweetie! I am so sorry I couldn’t come and pick you up - I tried to get a couple of shifts off but -”

“It’s OK mom. You know the fellowship includes a once a year trip home, and I wanted to see you.”

“Are you OK? You don’t look OK. Do you want something?”

“No, mom, I’m fine - all I want is to be here. With you.”

Melissa McCall hugged her son and he breathed her in.

Ever since the night Stiles had left, Scott found himself smelling things, touching things, hugging things. Lydia and Danny called it wolf behavior, and Allison had insisted in doing some tests on him to see if he had been bitten.

He just looked at her and said no.

“Mom, why am I called Fernando?”

“Your middle name? Your grandma chose it - it’s your great-grandfather name. You already knew that.”

“Yes - but, I mean, why? Why did you let her, or why did you say yes?”

“Scott, are you alright? This is the first time you asked about it?”

“Yeah, I’m fine - it’s just, I’m curious. Who was he?”

“Ah…” Melissa smiled understandingly, and Scott smiled embarrassed. She got up and before Scott could ask after her she came back with a box in her hands. She opened it carefully, the papers in it yellowed and stained. There were letters, mostly, but some photographs that included his grandmother and her family.

“He was a doctor. He got into the town from here, the United States, and began practicing for free. He never charged anyone, everybody was too poor to pay him, so he would sleep in the church and eat whatever any of the neighbors would bring him. According to your grandma, apparently some people were very suspicious of him, the old men, calling him nagual because according to them they’d hear howls in the nights of the full moon, even if there were no wolves in the area. Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Scott muttered quickly.

“Oh, here’s a picture of him. Damn, you look a lot like him. He was handsome!” His mother smiled and Scott couldn’t help but smile with her. When he saw the picture, he saw a man that was sad, broken, barely keeping with life.

He saw what his future would be if he kept thinking about how everything was wrong just because he had lost a friend who was never there in the first place.

“He is certainly good looking.” And he and his mom laughed.

“Back from your piss pot of a dump you call home, McCall?”

He’d barely opened the door when he could hear Aiden’s taunts from the patio. He wondered briefly why the boy was so fixated in him, but shrugged it and kept walking. Allison, Lydia and Danny immediately caught up with him and started chatting him up - probably to keep him from lashing out.

“I’m talking to you, bellboy! Tell me, was that overhaul of clothes you got last year the dump of some rich man you’ve been fucking?”

Scott was focusing on not listening to him, but Aiden had attracted the attention of the whole patio.

“Come on, bellboy, too much of a coward to defend yourself? Need to hide under Argent’s skirt again?”

Scott stopped, trying to breathe.

“Or is it under your imaginary friend that everybody heard you cry about a month ago that you’re going to run to now, bellboy?”

Scott saw red.

Before anyone else could notice what was happening, he had dropped his bag and walked straight to Aiden, who was laughing trying to arouse the audience. Scott clocked him in the face, making him fall.

He saw Ethan come at him, but faster than what he could see, Derek was behind him grabbing him by the collar.

“I don’t think so, Mr. Drake.”

“He attacked my brother! You saw that!”

“What I saw is your brother bullying and provoking Mr. McCall here. While I don’t condone his reaction, I understand it, and I consider a greater fault the attitude you’ve shown to him. Go to the headmaster’s office and wait for me there, both of you. Understood?”  The twins glowered at him but moved towards their destination. “Mr. McCall, I’ll walk you to your room.”

Scott grabbed his luggage and waved at his friends, who saw that it would be a bad idea if they all went with the scolded kid.

“Mr. McCall…”

“Scott, please.” They were in one of the corridors leading to the Eastern room. “I was pretty angry before, but I know it’s not your fault… and I wanted to apologize for acting that way before.”

“No need to apologize, Scott. I - I understand.”

“Besides, I wanna learn about him. He is - was - my great-grandfather.”

“Wait, what?”

Scott gave him the picture his mother had shared with him. He saw Derek smile and cry at the same time.

“He looks so sad…”

“I know. I don’t wanna be him. So I need to know who he was in order not to become so.”

Derek actually chuckled.

“Well, here we are.” They could hear the muffled noises of a bluetooth speaker.

“I’ll see you in the morning Scott, we need to talk about your college essays.”

“Definitely. Oh, wait - do you know who’s my new roommate? I got an email from Miss Blake saying I had a new roommate.”

“No - I’m sorry. Just like you, I took some time off.”

“It’s alright. See you later, Mr. Hale.”

“See you later, Mr. McCall.” Derek bantered back. Scott smiled at him and opened the door. Inside, a skinny gangly boy in plaid with a buzzcut was dumping his suitcase on the bed.

“Oh, you must be Scott! Hi, I’m -”

“Stiles.”

The boy in front of him was a carbon copy of the ghost he’d seen disappear just a month ago. Including the moles.

“They told you my name in the emails? I knew yours because apparently this room is haunted or something and everybody knows you live here - I was so insisting that they called me Stiles, nobody calls me Sczesny anyways - they just gave up and started calling me Mr. Stilinski and that’s so odd because my dad is Mr. Stilinski - well Sheriff Stilinski actually and - dude, you alright?”

Scott hadn’t been able to close his mouth - he had to focus on doing so instead of on the boy. “Yeah, sorry, it’s just that you reminded me of someone.”

“Really?” The boy suddenly saw the big mirror in the room and walked to it. “Because you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He adjusted it to be lopsided to left, just a little bit.

Scott looked at the boy’s reflection - in a newsies cap and suspenders - wink at him.

 


End file.
